


take my heart and take my hand like an ocean takes the dirty sands and heal (tell me some things last)

by bloodaccusedstones



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 14:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3293759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodaccusedstones/pseuds/bloodaccusedstones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turning out the lights of the dorm, you leave the owl lamp on and lay down next to Carmilla. You try not to touch her because you don’t want her to shatter underneath your fingertips. You do reach out and gently, like a whisper, and place two fingers on the inside of her left wrist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take my heart and take my hand like an ocean takes the dirty sands and heal (tell me some things last)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bechloehuh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bechloehuh/gifts).



> Sorry for such a break between the last fic and this one. I'm co-writing the upcoming Carmilla Long Distance AU and so I've been working on that.   
> This is based on two tumblr prompts; one from belchloehuh (eliseboobman on tumblr and my writing partner for the ldau) for a fic based on the lyrics of "Young Blood" by Birdy and an anon's request for Laura angst.  
> Ask and you shall receive.

/

_the mood it changes like the wind/ hard to control when it begins_

///

You hear her feet shuffle around the room. Then you hear her clomping down the hallway, footfalls heavy with lies and grief and sadness, and you can’t hear her steps anymore.

Good.

You don’t want to see her again.

You stare at the wall. You can’t look away from it (you won’t because you don’t want to cry over her in front of Perry). You can feel tears resting on your eyelids, ready to jump and roll down your cheek, and you do your best to keep them from spilling.

You know that you should hear her side of the story but you’re so _angry_ with her. She betrayed you. She killed your friends and didn’t even tell you. She _killed your friends._ How can you forgive her?

It was her the whole time. She’s the reason you were almost pulverized by the Zetas and Summer Society. She’s the reason why everything has gone crazy. She’s the reason Kirsch is dead. She’s the reason your heart hurts and there’s heavy tears in your eyes and your hands ache.

Kirsch is dead.

Danny hates you.

LaF is pod-peopled.

Perry’s a mess.

Carmilla betrayed you.

You don’t know which one hurts the most.

/

_as you shiver/ count up all your mistakes_

///

She’s dead. Carmilla’s dead. She’s dead because of you. Oh god, what have you done?

///

“We won. We actually won,” you nod to the camera and but struggle to keep your voice steady. “We won...” a strangled noise escapes your closed mouth and you force yourself to say it. The people watching need to know what Carmilla did for you. You look down for a second, quickly gathering the last bit of strength you have in you. “And Carmilla’s dead,” you say, looking into the camera.

Your heart shatters in your chest when you say those words out loud and you struggle to keep yourself from crying. It’s hopeless, really, because you feel your face twist in pain and a quiet sob bangs against your ribs.

She’s dead. She’s _dead_. And it’s your fault. Your rejection forced her to go get the sword. Your rejection forced her to feel like she needed to save you. She saved you. She saved you and died. She died for you.

For _you_.

That makes you sob harder. Your ribs shatter into tiny pieces of bone that bounce around your chest with every cry, every shake of your body, piercing your lungs and you can’t breathe.

You feel like you’re going to die and Carmilla would’ve died for nothing.

You lean over the desk, tears rolling down your cheeks as you cry and cry and cry. She’s gone, she’s gone.

You feel a hand on your shoulder and the person tries to help you sit back up but you can’t. You’re crying to hard and your stomach is cramping and you’re so, so tired and she’s gone.

“Laura,” you hear, “Laura, please.”

It’s Danny. She wraps her arms around your chest and hugs you from behind. It’s awkward because you’re still sitting in your chair, hunched over and Danny is draped over you.

“I’m sorry, Laura. I’m so sorry.” You can feel her tears against your neck and you sit up a bit, just enough for her to pull you closer. You’re pouring everything you have inside of you into Danny’s palms, praying that her large hands can hold it all for you.

It’s just too hard for you to try to hold everything.

Danny’s trying to hold you together.

It’s not working.

///

You don’t even feel the cut on your cheek sting. The only thing you feel is the emptiness in your chest and tears on your cheeks.

Danny picks you up and carries to you to your bed (you don’t think your legs could’ve supported you anyway). She sets you down on your mattress softly, drapes quilts around your shoulders, pulls up blankets so that they pool around your waist, and you’re swaddled in warmth.

You know she’s trying to help you but with all this warmth around around you, you’re only reminded that you feel cold.

Which reminds you that Carmilla must be cold because she’s dead.

Which reminds you that it’s your fault.

And your chest, somehow, breaks even more.

///

You end up falling asleep curled up against Danny’s chest, tears hanging on your eyelashes and your mouth twisted in a grimace.

///

You didn’t even get the chance to apologize.

/

_the bittersweet between my teeth_

///

She’s alive she’s alive she’s alive.

///

She’s groaning and Danny’s trying to keep her still so LaFontaine can bandage up the cuts on her body, but she’s thrashing around to much. You rip your arm out of Perry’s grasp and stumble over to where she’s laying on your bed.

She’s a mess of limbs and blood and moans. You can’t help but feel so relieved but so sad because she’s _alive_ but she’s in _pain_.

“Carmilla,” you cry out, “Carm.”

“Laura, wait,” Danny says as she pushes Carmilla’s leg down. A crunch sound and Carmilla’s scream rings through your ears and you feel like you’re going to be sick. Danny’s hand grabs your elbow, holding you up, and you realize that your knees had buckled and you were falling towards the ground. “Laura, I know you want to see her but its not a good idea right now,” she says in one breath. She looks tired and her footfalls are heavy; her eyes are wild and distraught and you wonder how bad Carm must be. You’ve only caught a few glimpses of Carmilla after Danny busted the door down, holding Carmilla in her arms and LaF and Perry right behind her.

You sit on the floor next to your desk chair and Danny squats down next to you, right hand still gripping your elbow. You see her left hand and it’s covered in thick, red, liquid and you look at the floorboards quickly.

“Danny!”

Danny jumps back over next to LaF and Perry sits down next to you. Perry, always the mother, tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and strokes your arm in a comforting motion.

“No, Danny, push her arm back down.”

“What?”

“Push her arm down and pull her elbow back towards you so it’s in the right direction.”

“Wait, wait, wait, LaF, shouldn’t we fix her chest first?”

“Her elbow’s freaking me out.”

“Her elbow? Her chest is freaking me out! You shouldn’t be able to see ribs and her sternum shouldn’t be sticking out of her!”

“Okay, okay, yeah, you’re right. Just, wait, here. Push down here.”

“Push down?”

“...Yes?”

“What do you mean, ‘yes?’”

“Well, there’s the possibility that we’re doing this all wrong and actually hurting her instead of helping her…”

“So we might be doing more damage?”

Carmilla moans.

“Yes.”

“...Because _that_ doesn’t make me more nervous about shoving her bones back into her body, or anything.”

“Just don’t push her sternum back in too hard.”

“Jesus Christ, LaF.”

“On the count of three, you push her sternum back in, okay?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Yes, actually, because Carmilla’s technically dead so we could just leave her like this and it wouldn’t kill her or anything-”

You whimper and Perry tightens her grip around you; you can feel her shaking a bit.

“LaF!”

“What?! We could but we won’t! Just push on three, alright? We’re wasting time.”

“Okay, okay.”

“One, two, three!”

There’s a crack and popping and Carmilla screams so loud, you know you’ll never be able to forget the exact pitch of that scream.

You pull your knees up to your chest place your elbows on your knees, covering your ears with your hands. Perry squeezes your arm and you try to drown out the noise of Danny and LaF and Carmilla’s screams.

She’s in pain because of you.

///

“Wait, LaF, where does this bone go?”

“What bone?”

“This one.”

“...Oh. I’ve never seen that one.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t remember that bone on skeletons…”

“So...where do I put in?”

“I don’t think that’s her bone, Danny.”

“So you’re saying...this is someone’s bone?”

“Yeah.”

"But not Carmilla's bone."

"Yes."

“There was someone's bone in her shirt?”

“...Yeah, I think so.”

“Oh my god.”

///

You feel sick from all the crunching and talk about missing bones and the screams and the pain of Carmilla being dead and the pain of seeing her alive but covered in blood and broken.

///

You wanted her back but never in pieces.

///

After many reassurances by you, the redheads leave you in your dorm with Carmilla. 

She had fallen asleep after Danny and LaF had mended her body with their bare hands.

You will be forever grateful to them for that.

You walk over to your bedside and look at Carmilla.

She is small; you forget that she is not much bigger than you because she always acts like she’s bigger than she really is. There’s no blood on her (Perry had convinced Danny to help her clean off Carmilla) except for a little bit on the corner of her mouth where you had given her some blood from the soy milk container. You lick your thumb and wipe off the speck as best as you can. You end up cupping her bruised cheek and running your thumb across her cheekbone.

Her eyelashes remind you of gentle snowflakes as they rest against her alabaster skin. It is a bittersweet moment; you have her back but she was dead and broken in little pieces and you didn’t think she could be repaired. But she’s not in small sharps anymore; she’s whole, she’s been reforged. That’s all you can ever ask for.

You sniffle and wipe off the few tears that are leaking out your eyelids. Turning out the lights of the dorm, you leave the owl lamp on and lay down next to Carmilla. You try not to touch her because you don’t want her to shatter underneath your fingertips. You do reach out and gently, like a whisper, and place two fingers on the inside of her left wrist.

She only deserves to be touched with the kindest caresses.

/

_you keep my secrets hope to die/ promises, swear them to the sky_

///

“Cupcake.”

“Hm?”

“Tell me a story.”

You roll over to face her.

She’s staring at you with wide, rich brown eyes and her forehead is bunched up. You reach up and run your fingers through her hair until her face smooths out. She places her hand on your chest with her fingertips brushing your collarbone, and taps her fingers.

“You want a story?” She nods. You know that she’s been having trouble living for the past two months. Only two weeks ago, she could move without the sound of popping or clicking and a month ago she could stand on her own. Dependency is not Carmilla’s thing, so to speak, so having you help with with basic functions, like sitting up or holding a spoon, stripped away most of her pride.

She’s hasn’t been sleeping at night, you know that. If she falls into a shallow slumber, the night terrors still get to her. You told her sleep during the day and stay awake at night. She listened to you and that seemed to help her a bit. You assume that tonight was rough because she wants a distraction.

“About what?”

“Anything that makes you happy.”

You think for a second. There are many things that make you happy. Dogs barking, your father, childhood friends, Danny, LaF, Perry, the reception your phone gets, sunny days, beaches, small clouds, Carmilla, the list goes on.

But you know Carmilla. She want’s to know what your favorite memory is.

“When I was a little girl, my mother used to take me to the public swimming pool. I didn’t know how to swim and my dad is afraid of water, so she took me there on Saturdays and taught me how to swim. One day, it was really hot and sunny, so Mom told me that we wouldn’t be going to the pool. I cried for a while because I really looked forward to swimming. She said she had a surprise and when I asked her what the surprise was, she told me that she was taking me to a secret spot.

“She drove us to this small little pond that hid in the hills a few minutes away from the house. I asked her how she knew about it and she said that she had found it when she was on a date with Dad and they kept it a secret. 

“I teased her about the date with Dad because I was a kid, you know? Kids do that stuff. She had looked at me and said, ‘Laura, darling, wait for the person that makes you smile so hard your cheeks ache and your stomach hurts from laughing. Wait for the person that you’re comfortable around, honest with, and happy with. Wait for the person that would build a ladder to the stars just to bring one back for you. That person, who would die for you, is the person you’re meant to be with.’ I was only a kid when she told me that so I didn’t really know what she meant by that, I only did when I got older. That was the last piece of advice she gave me.” 

Carmilla wraps her arms around your chest and pulls you closer to her, shushing you and wiping the tears from your cheeks.

“I’m sorry about your Mother. It sounds like she was very lovely.”

“She would’ve liked you,” you whisper against her collarbones. She places her cheek on the top of your hair and traces shapes on your back.

“I think I would’ve liked her. She sounds better than my birth mother.”

“There must’ve been some good memories of your real mom.”

“I suppose.”

“Tell me one?”

She’s quiet and you’re afraid you said the wrong thing but her soft voice whispers in your ear.

“That I remember?” You nod.

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s a bit like your story. We were out in the flower gardens, just Mother and I. Off in the distance, I heard these squeals, and it sounded like children playing, so I looked in the direction of the sound. Sure enough, a groups of small boys were tussling around in the dirt just a little ways away from us. They were nobles, and a young man walked over to them and peeled the little boys off of each other. When he saw me, he waved and he was shy because he couldn’t look me in the eye. I had smiled at him as he ran off and Mother had tugged at my arm. She looked disapprovingly at me and said that she didn't want me to becomes friends with anybody. I asked her if it was because we were royals, and so we had to protect ourselves, and she said among other things. I had asked her to elaborate on her answer. 

“I remember Mother leaned down and said to me, ‘Mircalla, there will be people in your life that will make you feel like an earthquake destroyed city, a fire-ridden forest, as lonely as the deep sea. There will be people in your life that will make you feel like fields of you favorite flower, soft like gentle rain, as treasured as a rare gem. Wait for those people, the good people. Just remember that.’ I did.”

You play with the tips of her hair.

“Did you find those people? The good people?” She pulls back slightly, gazing into your eyes, and nods.

“Yeah, Sundance, I think I did.” She leans down and kisses the tip of your nose. “What about you? Did you find that person?”

You drag your nails across her hipbone, trail them up her abs. “Yes. I did.” You lean up and kiss her. She cups your neck and you tangle your fingertips in her thick, dark hair. She pulls back quickly though (you think you heard another pop of bones but you’re not entirely sure) and kisses your cheek.

“Your mother would be very proud of you, Laura.”

/

_can't help myself but count the flaws/ claw my way out through these walls_

///

You tighten your grip on Carmilla’s shirt. She trails a fingertip over your cheekbone and rests her forehead on yours, wiping her thumb under your eyelids, ready to swipe the collecting tears off your skin.

“She would be Laura. She would be so proud of you.”

You open your mouth to say something to Carmilla but when you do, a croak leaves you throat and you’re choking back a sob. Carmilla pulls you closer to her, which you thought was impossible because you’re already imprinted on her front, and she runs her hands through your hair. “It’s okay Laura, it’s okay,” she whispers in your hair.

You feel bad because you’re wiping snot on her shirt and your tears are seeping through her shirt but when she kisses your forehead and feel her grip tighten on you, you know she doesn’t care about that at all.

You sob into her chest. You sob for you mother, who left too early, for you father, who is so lonely, for Danny and her sorrow, for LaF and the struggles they must be dealing with about their identity, for Carmilla, who’s lost everything and hates herself so much but somehow keeps waking up everyday. 

Most of all, you cry for yourself. You’ve never really cried for yourself because you think it’s a selfish thing to do but nothing has ever gone smoothly for you. Nothing. So just this once, you let yourself be selfish.

There’s so much pain that you have to live with; you just don’t show it because it’s easier to not deal with things, to push problems aside and try to ignore them. Your father taught you that it’s best to live life happy and you try, you really do, but some nights are a little darker than others and you don’t know how to deal with those nights.

You used to hear your father cry at night sometimes. Mostly on your parents anniversary, or on her birthday, or if he visited her headstone. Sometimes, most times, he would just cry. You could hear his sniffles slide under his bedroom door and under yours, letting you hears him from inside your room. You never went to console him during these times; grief is private and you were struggling not to cry yourself.

You miss her. You do. She’s a little foggy in your memories and that’s another reason you cry for her. You don’t want to forget her but age is causing you to, bit by bit. You forgot the exact shade of her hair, what she sounded like when she laughed, how hard she smiled when she saw you.

(You wonder if Carmilla is distraught over forgetting her family, too.)

(You think she is.)

“I miss her,” you manage to spit out.

“I know you do. I know.”

You gasping for breathes and your vision is blurry from your tears and your throat hurts. Carmilla pushes away from you but only enough for her to kiss your cheek, your forehead, your nose, your chin, every inch of you face that she can reach.  

She hovers her lips over yours, close enough to graze yours but not enough to actually kiss you.

“I’m sorry, Laura. I’m sorry,” she whispers into your mouth and you breathe in her words, listen to them shake around inside your lungs with your cries. Her words give you oxygen, remind you that she is alive; she’s alive and holding you while you cry over everything that could’ve been and everything that is, kissing your face and just being here. With you.

///

You cry harder because she is everything you’ve ever wanted and you almost lost her forever.

/

_we lie beneath the stars at night/ our hands gripping each other tight_

///

Holding your hand, she leads you out of your dorm three months after she resurrected. 

It’s clear out tonight and the soft glow of the moon highlights the space around it in the sky, making it seem bigger than it really is, and it reminds you of Carmilla. Both have a large presence, both are so beautiful, both shine as bright as the sun, but only in the darkest of times.

“Carm, where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise, Cutie.”

You roll your eyes but squeeze her hand. She squeezes back and you grin.

She leads you to the park, sits down on a bench, and pulls you down so you’re sitting next to her. She wraps her arm around your shoulders, pulls you closer to her so you’re fitted into her side, and you point up to the glowing stars.

“They’re very pretty tonight.”

“Not as pretty as you.”

“You’re such a sap,” you flick the tip of her nose with your finger and she glares at you, which you return with a smile. She shakes her head at you but leans into your side a bit more. You lean up and kiss her cheek, catching the edge of her lips and her little smile after you pull away.

“I, uh, I know it;s not my business but I thought that I could bring you here to look at the stars because I think it might help.”

“Help with what?”

“Your mother,” Carmilla’s eyes bore into yours. You feel your throat swell up and your heart squeezes out blood just a little harder.

“Oh.”

“I...I think it could help. I talk to my family through the stars,” she whispers and you watch her with rapt attention. She doesn’t talk about her family often. “If I miss them or need to talk to them, I just look up or talk to the stars and pretend it’s them. It helps.” 

“This is very sweet of you, Carm.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like seeing you sad.”

You tangle you fingers with hers, gently squeezing them, and you look at her. Her outline is highlighted by the streetlamp so you can’t really see any of her features. You can see her eyes though, her large, brown eyes that are full of honesty.  You nod at her and she smiles softly. You look back up to the dark sky littered with glowing balls of gas. You’re amazed that stars are really just balls of gas but are so beautiful and can mean so much to someone, to Carmilla. You swallow harshly and blink a few times before clearing your throat. 

“Hi, Mom.” 


End file.
